


A Chance Encounter

by MiaLyn



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Batman gets tied up in her bedroom, F/M, First Meetings, This is the start of a beautiful friendship, pre BVS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27432676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaLyn/pseuds/MiaLyn
Summary: Batman had close calls in his career. This one leads him to seek refuge in a part of Gotham he is not used to. Unfortunately, the apartment he picks is not empty.
Relationships: Diana (Wonder Woman) & Bruce Wayne, Diana (Wonder Woman)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 13
Kudos: 120





	A Chance Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Just a one-shot that went through my head and was begging to get out. Set before Batman vs Superman.  
> Have fun reading it :) -I sure had fun writing it xD (many thanks to my new beta for checking spelling mistakes and other asburdities xD)

**A Chance Encounter**

Bruce had known close calls in his career as Batman. This one though, was _really_ close.

While he was busy investigating on the latest threat, Bane had teamed up with Scarecrow and Deathshot to ambush him. The trio had come very close to succeeding. His car was trashed and resting at the bottom of the water and he had been backed into a corner. His saving grace had been a particular acrobatic shortcut through chimneys of the rooftops of Gotham. He had to retreat to the wealthier parts of the city, where his hiding spots were limited and rather exposed. The building he had aimed for was completely dark, but he knew the fifth floor apartment on the left had been vacant for a while. He would tend to his most urgent injuries there, patch himself up the best he could, and find a way to call Alfred for a lift.

He hadn’t been _this close_ to passing out in battle in a long time; his head felt dizzy and he had lost contact with his butler; therefore explaining the series of mistakes that followed. Had he been slightly more conscious, he would have realized he had landed on the fourth floor. Had he not been about to faint, he would also have noticed the female clothes scattered all over the floor. Had his nose and mouth not been bleeding abundantly, he would have smelt humidity coming from the next room. Had his ears not been ringing, he wouldn’t have missed the sound of a shower turning into an abrupt stop.

Therefore, when the light turned on and someone entered, he reacted on instinct. Unfortunately, he could barely stand and his aim was poor. He did not even hit his target. Instead of pouncing upon his prey, the mighty Batman tripped on a carpet that wasn’t supposed to be there and passed out before he even hit the ground.

When he woke up, the first thing he noted was his hands tied above his head. As he glanced up, he saw the rope disappear over the top of an old-fashioned closet. A heavy, _large_ old-fashioned closet. Tugging too hard on the rope would likely make the thing fall upon him and thoroughly crush his bones, should he be too slow to evade it. Bruce wasn’t worried about that. He had escaped direr situations than a threatening closet. What could be problematic was that his ankles were both taped to a chair. An equally old, and equally sturdy-looking chair that he could not snap in half, even with his full strength.

And upon witnessing his bare ankles came another glaring issue. His belt, gloves, boots and armor were missing; only remained his boxers. The air was warm though, so he felt no shiver due to cold. Additionally, his host had somehow managed to keep the upper half of his cowl on, hiding his face from the nose up. He could still feel the sweat clinging to his skin, which suggested it had not come off at all. His identity _might_ still be safe. Another positive point, his injuries had been tended with clean bandages, his opened wounds sewed carefully. He must have been injected some kind of morphine as he didn’t feel any pain.

When he tried shifting positions, the uncomfortable sensation of his thigh rubbing against plastic made him grimace. So he was half-naked, sitting on a plastic cover, his hands and feet tied –rather efficiently he’d have to admit. As he resigned himself to the idea that he could do little more, he glanced around.

He had been moved to a bedroom, one that belonged to someone who cared little about design and more about art and antiquities. Incredibly well-conserved ancient vases adorned the top of closets. Swords and shields that must have gone through battles centuries ago rested in exhibition cases on top of drawers. He couldn’t determine the gender of the owner, as the furniture looked very neutral and no pictures were hung on the walls. The only hint was the bed itself, rather large with golden drapes and velvet red covers. All he could now do was wait.

The door opened shortly after and a woman entered the room. She wore nothing but sports shorts and a red tank top. The fabric stopped mid-thigh and he eyed her long pair of legs. He noted how well-shaped they were – _strong and_ _muscular_ _, like_ _those of_ _an athlete and_ _could have inspired_ _the most graceful Greek statues_ \- before forcing his eyes up. Her arms and shoulders were well-built with solid muscles. A few strands of dark hair had escaped from her high ponytail, falling over her big dark eyes. Bruce glared hard, hoping his mask wouldn’t betray the urge to swallow dryly at the glorious vision in front of him. As his playboy persona demanded, he had known his fair share of gorgeous women. _Goddess_ would be the exact term to describe this one.

And then he remembered his armor had been cast away somewhere and the only thing hiding his physical reaction was the thin cotton layer of his boxers. _Tight_ -fitting boxers. Her own gaze briefly lingered over his crotch and her mouth twisted into an amused smirk. Bruce had no need to wonder why. He had never felt so uncomfortable.

“You’re awake,” the vision spoke with a foreign accent and stepped closer. Her skin was damp, as if she had just stepped out of the shower. She crouched next to him. The most intense scent of jasmine hit his nostrils and managed to distract him for a few precious seconds. When he met her eyes –a tad too late- she was grinning. And boy, she had the most perfect alignment of teeth in the world.

“Men,” she said, holding back a laugh, and reached out for his left pectoral. She lifted the border of the bandage to check the state of the injury. Frowned slightly. It mustn’t look good. “How are you feeling?”

He focused back on her face. Her nose or her forehead, not her mesmerizing eyes or red lips. And he definitively shouldn’t check out the curve of her neck. Or anything lower.

“Fine,” he said and left it there. The woman stood back on her feet and retreated towards the bed. She sat on the mattress, eyed him with curiosity.

“I apologize for tying you up,” she said eventually, waving at his tied body. “I’m not used to having men dressed like bats breaking into my bedroom.” She glanced at the plastic he was sitting on. “And you were dripping blood all over the carpet.”

“Was the undressing necessary?” he asked, ignoring the dry attempt of humor.

“Given the state of your body, definitively.”

She returned by his side, sat on the floor nearby. Her head cocked on the side as she squinted at him. He wondered what she was trying to uncover and stared back. She had to be in her late twenties, but his guts told him she might be older. A younger woman would not act so casually unafraid of him, even if his reputation as the Bat of Gotham implied he would never harm her.

“When will you untie me?” Bruce demanded and pulled slightly on his bounds for testing. Damn, still too tight.

“Once I trust you will not attack me,” she replied. “You were lucky none of the bullets hit any major artery. You would have bled out in seconds.”

His injuries. That was a safe territory he could focus on.

“What’s the damage?”

She understood his meaning and pointed at each bandage one by one:

“Bullet one, just a gaze on your forearm. Knife slice here. Bullet two, through your thigh; you will have trouble walking for a few days. I don’t think the ribs are cracked, though it wouldn’t hurt to check.” And she went, listing calmly all the little hits the three combined villains had managed to administrate him. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t like to reveal your face if you could help it, so I don’t know if you have a head injury or not.”

“Thank you,” he replied sincerely.

“I was worried you wouldn’t wake up. Had you not opened your eyes within the hour, I would have taken it off regardless.” She reached out, touched his chin. Her touch stung, most likely due to another cut. “I wouldn’t want you to die.”

“Your thoughtfulness is appreciated,” he went on and hated to hear that he sounded…panting. Yes, the woman was gorgeous and she seemed compassionate, but that didn’t mean he had to lose control in her presence. A part of his anatomy twitched, reminding him said control would be long lost if she kept staring at him with that soft expression. “What’s your name?”

There came the toothy white smile again.

“Diana.” No last name. “And you?”

“Batman.”

“I figured,” she replied, amused. “I had heard a lot of rumors about your existence when I arrived here. Now I know they are true.”

He’d been unconscious for two hours and not been in touch with Alfred for another _._ Three hours of silence. The poor man must be losing his mind.

“You must be one of the rare ones not to be eager to peek underneath the cowl.”

“I am curious,” she admitted. “But what good will it do?” Her fingertips trailed over his chest, avoiding all the injured places. “You are not a bad man, and I know the value of anonymity. If you wish to protect your identity, who am I to disrespect that?”

Her hand was trailing lower, like she couldn’t help herself from touching him –or his injuries. Little Bruce was growing more and more excited.

“If you keep doing this, I can’t guarantee I will behave for long,” he warned warily. Her head shot up; she looked momentarily confused. Then a light blush ran over her cheeks and she removed her exploring hand.

“I apologize,” she said. “It had just been a while since I’ve seen such fascinating work.”

Fascinating work? He wanted to snort. His body was a mess of scars and bruises. He had to keep his shirt with his late conquests, else they might start wondering how a playboy like him ended up getting these gruesome scars.

“Your wounds speak of your courage; you carry the violence of your battles on your skin. You are a brave man and this,” she brushed an old scar on his left rib, “proves it.”

While her explanation left him skeptical, he decided not to contradict her. They remained silent for a while, he contemplating her, she contemplating his wounds. He glanced around the room once more, and the circumstances of the latest attack through Gotham came back to him. And he remembered that he had specially scheduled a visit to meet an employee of the Gotham Museum in the hopes of gathering more information. After tonight though, he would have to postpone his meeting with the man. And given the late activities of the Falcone crime family, he needed information, and fast. Might as well make the most of the opportunity while he still could.

“Would you call yourself an expert in Greek mythology?”

Diana blinked and tilted her head to the side. The toothy smile made its comeback.

“Did the décor give me away?”

The light teasing tone did something to his guts, and he decided not to delve on the matter too long. Focus, he thought, your city might be at risk.

“What do you know about the Key to Hades’ Gates?”

The smile slowly left her face and her eyes grew harder. _She knows something_ , he thought, and perhaps for the first time since she had entered the room, he felt she was in no mood to joke around.

“That is a myth,” she said quietly. “A not well-known one, but still just a myth.” He nodded in encouragement. The woman seemed to hesitate before going on: “What do you need to know?”

“What is this myth about?”

Diana bit her lower lip, definitively envisioning what she should say.

“Hades is the eldest of the three main gods of the Olympus. He is the king of the dead and of the underground, and can mobilize the dead for his own purpose, should the need arise. The gates of the Underworld can be summoned through an artifact called the ‘Key to Hades’ Gate’. It is a vase made of three parts that can only be found after executing three labors sanctioned by the gods.” She paused. “The myth says that whoever opens the gate can control a part of the army of the undead.”

In other words, Falcone was seeking to reinforce his forces after his latest defeat against the Russians, and magic might be involved. Bruce grunted unhappily. He _hated_ magic.

“Do you know anything about these labors?”

Diana gave him a look, one he could not quite decipher. He felt she was both trying to figure out what he was planning and judging him for running after old tales.

“I am not certain of what the labors are, but only the gods of the Olympus must dictate them, else any effort will be void.” She replied cautiously. “Even if it was true, there are no gods left to ask such a thing. This is just an old myth.”

In spite of her confident stride, he felt he had shaken her somehow. _Just a myth?_ He called bull. There was definitively more to that story that she told him, but he was in no position to make demands. Literally speaking. His hands were still bound with little to no hope of being undone, his armor still hidden somewhere in this apartment, and his head was beginning to throb. Out of respect for his privacy, she had let his mask on, but he still needed to pay a visit to Leslie for a check. He could always return to interrogate her later.

“Thank you for the information. I won’t attack you. Can you untie me now?”

Diana hesitated again. A full minute later, she made up her mind. She stood, grabbed a pair of scissors from an unknown place, and returned to cut the tape around his feet. Bruce waited until every limb was free to stand. As he rose in his half-naked glory, he rubbed his wrists, analyzing the woman in front of him from a different angle. She was tall, nearly his height, watching him in turn. She still showed no fear. Even now, when he should be a threat in her home, Diana barely blinked.

Either she had trusted him very quickly, or she had a reason not to fear him. His guts hinted towards the latter.

“I need to leave,” he said next. At least reach Alfred before the poor man turned berserk. “Can I have my armor back?”

“Everything is in here,” she replied instead and pointed at a box on the other side of the room. She turned her back on him, walked calmly towards the door. He took it as either another sign of trust, or the sign she didn’t view him as a threat. “Leave through the back window; it gives on a deserted street. I wish you luck in your crusade, Batman.”

Upon these words, she left the room. Bruce didn’t waste another second, he dressed up and followed her instructions. He would definitively look her up.

She had vanished the very next day. As the myth turned out to be just a myth and Falcone dropped the project for another more lucrative –still criminal –activity, Bruce put the woman out of his mind and focused on more important matters.

It wasn’t until years later, after aliens invaded Metropolis and he started his anti-Superman cruisade, that he saw her again at Luthor’s donation party for the friends of the Metropolis Library, of all places. He followed her to that other gala, wearing that elegant glittering dress, betting that nine out of ten men would let her get out of anything –and in spite of his claim, he might _not_ be the tenth- and then she said:

 _‘You know what they say about little boys, born with no natural inclination to share. I didn’t steal your drive, I borrowed it.’_ Diana leant forward, whispered in his ear: ‘ _You’ll find it in the glove compartment of your car’_ and when she pulled back, her eyes lingered on his face, her hand touched his chin, followed the scar that was no longer visible and he somehow thought – _oh shit, she knows._

**Author's Note:**

> We never did find out how Diana found out Bruce Wayne was Batman in BvS, so imaginative minds invented. And Diana totally investigated the Key of Hades’ Gate and put a stop to it before it ever happened, but that’s a story for another day ;)  
> (Key of Hades Gate is a reference to Paradise Lost of the JL cartoons -loved that episode xD)


End file.
